


Erratic

by WroughtBetwixt



Series: JohnWard Prompts [4]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Battle Couple, Chronic Illness, Devotion, Drabble, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One Shot, Reflection, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2014-09-26
Packaged: 2018-02-18 20:09:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2360723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WroughtBetwixt/pseuds/WroughtBetwixt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Garrett was, Grant knew people would think, easy to figure out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Erratic

John Garrett was, Grant knew people would think, easy to figure out.

On missions, John was one person. Confident, perhaps overly so. Smiling, cracking jokes, sharing stories from missions past, and revving the team up with his infectious, upbeat energy. He was a force to be reckoned with in combat, an enthusiastic, vicious and determined opponent. When John entered the battlefield, he was a whirling storm of gunfire, fists and blades. He was, after all, the man who had taught Grant everything, and Agent Grant Ward himself was a bit of a legend among the members of their division; together, they were like a tornado chewing through a town, ripping down everything and everyone in their way. SHIELD, HYDRA, it didn’t matter; both sides would tell you that John and Grant were people you wanted on your side in a fight, apart or together, but especially together.

And when they got home, when the doors were shut and it was just the two of them, it was almost the same. At first. But then they’d sit down, crack open a beer, and the mask would fall. The bravado dropped, the smile fractured, the laughing and joking ebbed down into a deafening silence. Sometimes he wanted to be left alone; sometimes he’d get furious if Grant gave him space. Sometimes he would do nothing but sleep; sometimes he’d be awake for days. Sometimes he was silent, morose; sometimes, though more and more rarely these days, he was like his old, cockier self. 

To anyone else, it would likely seem erratic; Grant knew otherwise. He’d known John longer and more intimately than anyone, and he could see the carefully controlled image unravel as they readjusted to their normal surroundings. He could see the invisible armor drop, as much as John ever let it drop. All the pain, all the weariness and weakness hidden behind the cheerful, public image rose to the surface... and John knew Grant could see it. Grant had always seen it, was the only one allowed to see it. The illness coursing through John was taking it’s toll, not just physically, but mentally and emotionally as well, as chronic illnesses do. Grant knew there were good days and bad days, and that not all good and bad days looked the same. There were days John needed to be alone with his problems, and there were days John desperately needed someone to be there, someone trusted, to hold onto until the worst of it passed.

Grant knew he was an anchor. He was safe, he was secure. It was a position that Grant didn’t take lightly, nor was it a position he resented. No one else knew John like he knew John. No one else saw that side of him. Grant got everything. He got the smiles, the laughter, the rough banter, and the self-assured swagger. He also got the 2am panic attacks, the feverish shaking, the silent crying on his shoulder after a hard day, and exhaustion-fueled naps on the bathroom floor after a medication’s “vomiting” side effects kicked in. And somewhere in between, Grant got something sweeter. He got the hidden glances, the gentle brush of fingers against his cheek, and tentative, unsure kisses that, these days, descended into desperate, harsh fucks, as if they were the only force keeping each other from spinning off into nothingness.

If anyone thought he was going to betray that, they were fools.


End file.
